Benedict

by Jackson Bennett

  She blinked several times as what he said registered in her mind. “You want me to get Mark?” she asked.

  “Yes. Tell him what has happened here and then I want you to go back to Uncle Tom’s house and stay there with the girls, this is too dangerous and you will not help matters if you get caught up in this.” He paused, and then added, “and be careful, make sure that this is for Marks ears only.”

  She looked at him and then kissed him “I love you, your father would have been so proud,” and then she turned and headed for the stairs.

  “What were you looking for in the kitchen?” he asked as an afterthought before she left.

  “My birthing towels,” she replied.

  “Why?” he asked perplexed.

  “Susan is having her baby,” and with that she fled the house into the dark night seeking his brother at the barracks in the merchant quarter of town.

  “Baby!” he said to himself, “Susan is having her baby? Why now of all times!”

  He turned back to the room and silently thanked the gods that his sisters were staying with their Uncle as he hadn’t been well, the thought crossing his racing mind how strange it was that an illness could be such a blessing. Then he asked them to watch over his sister as she gave birth, ensuring that they would be both ok.

  He stood silently in front of the bed. He knew what needed to be done and the consequences if he was to fail, for the people would demand nothing less than his head, and quite possibly those of his family.

  He bent down to the table and shuttered the lamp and then straightening he stood still to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness once more.

  Behind him in the corner of the room where the shadows had been the darkest, he heard a scratch, as if a dog had scrapped a clawed paw across the wooden floor. Spinning around he brought his belt knife up and embedded it into the throat of a wereman that had its teeth barred inch’s from his face. As surprise registered on its feral face it slipped to the ground lifeless, ripping the knife from his hand.

  As the beast fell Richard caught movement out of his left eye. With no weapon he dived to his right, a clawed hand slashing through the shirt at his stomach, just missing his flesh. Rolling to his feet he drew his short sword, he knew that there was no room for this weapon in the confines of the bedroom, but he had no choice. He sliced the sword across his front from right to left at chest height, the blade tearing through unresisting flesh, and as it tore free it embedded itself deeply in the wooden doorframe. There was a grunt from the darkness, and then the second beast slumped to the ground.

  Richard froze, crouching low to the floor listening intently to the sounds of the room, his left hand resting on the knife in his right boot, the sword forgotten.

  Nothing moved, the only sound was his breathing, which was surprisingly calm.

  After a few seconds he slowly rose, drawing the boot knife, and moving to the window slowly drew back the curtain slightly, so as not to give anyone an indication that he was watching, and looked out over the deserted street.

  Several houses in the street showed lights in their windows, but there was no one in the streets, which was unusual for this part of town but then the rumours had spread, which would have no doubt caused people to be afraid, and to lock themselves away. As he watched he noted the absence of the cats and rats that infested the town, again a shiver ran down his back and a sense of foreboding settled in his stomach.

  Richard watched from the window, concealed behind the thick curtains and studied the dark street below. As the moon lit shadows shifted with the passing clouds, he began to feel eyes boring into him from the deep impenetrable blackness that filled every doorway, unlit window and side street. As the minutes passed the knowledge that anyone could be hiding out there began to knot his stomach.

  Leaving the window he crossed to where his first attacker had fallen, bent down and removed his knife from the lifeless body, cleaning it on the beasts clothing. He sheathed the boot knife and rising did the same with the belt knife, then he crossed to the door and pulled free his short sword and bending cleaned it on the clothes of the second beast. Then crossing back to the window he resumed his vigil.

  Chapter Three

  The Maggoty Apple

  As Richard stood staring into the darkness he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head slowly so as not to draw attention to himself, he watched as a lone figure approached the house. Moving slowly and hiding in the shadows, it made no noise that he could hear, even in the unnatural silence.

  As it stealthily approached the house, the long sword at its waist moving fluidly with its wearer, it glanced up at the window where Richard was stood just as the twin moons of Volar slipped from behind the clouds, and as their red and silver glow bathed the street, a face that was as familiar to Richard as his own, was illuminated.

  Mark.

  To say he was glad to see his younger brother was an understatement, and as the tension in his shoulders eased just a bit, he sighed. Now he had more of a chance of getting out of this with his head still attached to his neck.

  Mark was a member of the Volarian Guard, an elite force attached to the army, which was funded by and had their headquarters in the merchant quarter. He had joined several years before and had achieved the command of a section consisting of fifty men. He held the rank of captain and as such was paid a good wage.

  Richard had been so proud of him when he had joined, as it meant a better path of life for him than the one he had trod, but their mother had been dismayed, but on the day he had received his commission and been presented with the star amulet from Benedict, she had been the proudest of them all.

  Mark left the street and entered the house, the door closing with a gentle thud as he closed it behind him. Richard watched from the window as the clouds once more blocked out the gentle moonlight as they moved in front of the moons of Volar.

  Mark crept up the stairs and entered their mother’s bedroom with a worried look on his face. Seeing Richard he crossed the room, having to step around the dead men, and embraced him. Releasing him and glancing around the dark interior of the room he whispered, “Is it true?”

  “Yes,” Richard replied, pointing at the bed. “We have to get the body out of here and away from this house so that no-one can trace it back here,” he added in a hoarse whisper.

  “Where should we take it?” asked Mark, refusing to name the Voldiner.

  “I think the old volcanic lake, that way it will take time for anyone else to find it, if at all,” Richard said, his voice filled with regret yet tinged with a little hope.

  Mark glanced over Richard’s shoulder and out of the window at the still empty street. “The people are frightened; I didn’t see a soul on my way over here, not one.”

  Richard looked his brother in the eyes and nodded.

  “When we leave here we should be on our guard though, the militia are sending out patrols to track the murderers and to calm the populace, and those that put him here could still be around waiting to see the outcome,” he warned, pointing to the Voldiner and not once showing any sign of doubt in his brother innocence.

  Mark approached the bed and the Voldiner’s body. When he saw his face with its lifeless eyes staring at him, he ran his thumb and small finger from his forehead to his chin, crossing his eyes in the sign of peace. Richard realised that he had not made the sign, what with the shock, so he did so now to speed the Voldiner spirit on to the heavens.

  Mark turned his attention to the two dead men that lay slumped on the floor, their bodies contorted in death. “Who are they?” he asked, “mum said there was only him,” Mark added hiking his thumb at the bed, still refusing to use the Voldiner’s name.

  “They are Prith weremen,” Richard replied, “They were hiding in the shadows and attacked when she left.” His heart skipped a beat at the r
ealisation that they had been there when his mother had entered the room.

  Mark looked closely at the bodies. “They look like normal men,” he said, glancing at his brother.

  “They return to normal shortly after they are killed, as they did when they attacked Benedict, which was why they only found the Voldiner’s guards,” Richard replied, still looking out of the window and only briefly glancing at the bodies.

  Mark made the sign for peace across his heart to ward off evil and then they set to work trying to save their lives.

  Leaving the window Richard crossed to the bed and closed the Voldiner’s dead eyes, then they gently and with as much reverence as they could then wrapped him in the blood soaked bed covers that he lay on.

  “What about those two?” Mark asked pointing at the dead men.

  “Leave them, they won’t be a problem,” Richard replied, shrugging his shoulders, “They broke into my house and I thought them for my life, who will argue with that, there is nothing to link them to the Voldiner.”

  Picking up the wrapped body, with Richard carrying the head as Mark refused to, they headed down the stairs and out into the dark street beyond.

  As they reached the door they paused in their deadly errand and stood silently allowing what night sounds there were to soak in. After a few seconds they headed out the door and into the deserted dark streets. They turned left; leaving the main street and taking the darker deserted side streets that would leave them less open to scrutiny and prying eyes, and headed north through the city.

  Richard knew the route that they now trod well, for it was the one that he had used in his days as a trader of “untaxed,” goods. He had used it only two days ago to pass on several items that he had come across, that were too big or to recognisable to stay within the city walls, now he hoped that the rumours that the city militia were closing in on the operation were just that, rumours. Diamonds were one thing, the dead Voldiner was another.

  Richard’s arms began to itch, gently at first, but with every step the itching increased until he feared they would walk right into the source of the magic. He motioned for Mark to stop and then moved further into the shadowed doorway they had stopped in front of, there they remained still, adrenalin pumping, waiting, poised for action.

  A stone past them as it was kicked, bouncing across the cobbled street, and was followed by the heavy footfalls of booted feet. Slowly, quietly they lowered the Voldiner’s body to the ground and placing their hands on their swords silently loosened them in their sheaths.

  The itching increased to the point where Richard wanted to scream.

  Silence.

  The brothers held their breath and tightened their grip on their sword hilts.

  There was a scraping then the footfalls echoed as they moved away, gradually getting quieter and quieter, until they had gone. The itching faded too and the brothers breathed again.

  They picked up their burden and began their journey again, stopping several times as the magic around them increased, or at the approach of the groups of militia that were now patrolling the city.

  Richard had never felt so much magic being used by men so regularly, for to his understanding the use of magic would leave the wielder drained of all energy for several hours, except for the Lava Women and other magical creatures, who were able to draw on their magic as a man would his strength, for it was such a part of who they were.

  ***

  A cowed shadow detached itself from the darkened doorway opposite the brother’s house and watched thoughtfully as the two men carried the heavy bloodied bundle they had removed into the city.

  How had they escaped the weremen? It did not know.

  They had moved to soon, before their plans were fully in place, before the city was ripe for the taking.

  This changed everything; they would have to raise the barrier to stop them from fleeing. There was no other choice; the seeds of dissent needed to take root, but without the body of their leader and those that had taken his life, the ground would remain barren.

  Now they would have to kill them all, but to do so would take an age, and that much magic would require much blood.

  It cursed silently and with the stench of blood in its nostrils and hunger in its stomach the shadow turned, blending once more with the darkness, and headed for the centre of town.

  ***

  For more than an hour they travelled the darkened back streets of the city, stopping, starting and hiding in the shadows. Something about the city had changed, driving away the creatures that normally thrived in the filth packed alleys and forgotten slums. They had seen nothing, not even a cockroach on their journey, and now with their limbs aching and their nerves on edge, they were nearing the edge of the city.

  The huge, impenetrable wall towered above the buildings as it curved around the outer edge of the city and beyond the slopes of the volcanoes, that surrounded their city, could be seen rising into the night sky.

  They paused in their labour to gain their bearings and their breath, for the Voldiner in life had been no lightweight and in death was proving to be doubly so.

  Ahead lay their destination; The Maggoty Apple, a name that fit the inn well.

  Mark forcibly grabbed Richard’s arm and pointing to the sky hissed a single word. “Look.” His grip was strong and when Richard looked to where he was pointing he knew why.

  High above them, reaching into the night sky was what looked like a column of light that seemed, as far as they could tell, to be coming from the centre of the city. As it reached a great height it began to cascade down in a spray of blue and silver light, which flowed around each other, embracing, as if trying to become one. The sight was breath-taking in its beauty and unlike anything they had seen before. Then with awe the brothers stood there, mouths open drinking in the sight, the Voldiner forgotten at their feet, the light touched the ground.

  When the intertwining flows of light reached the ground they began to expand outwards, with great speed, in a circle towards the edge of the city and to their realisation and dawning horror, them.

  As the light approached them, in desperation as they knew that the speed at which it was travelling meant that they would not be able to out run it, they ducked behind the building they were stood next to in a last ditch attempt to save themselves, and tensing their bodies waited to die.

  The light past through the building and then through their bodies as if they hadn’t been there, then having passed them the light headed away towards the outer edge of the city. All they had felt as it had passed was a light sensation of the hairs on their arms and legs standing on end.

  They turned to watch the speeding light, relieved that they were still alive and un-harmed, come to an abrupt halt just beyond the edge of the city walls, where the silver light now seemed to dance and crackle across the now solid blue, like lightening across the cloud filled sky. Looking skyward they saw the huge blue dome of light, which now curved over the city.

  Fear tightened in Richard’s stomach, the same feeling being almost palpable in Mark as well.

  Richard looked at the corpse lying at their feet and pointed at The Maggoty Apple across the street. Mark acknowledged with a nod of his head, then bending to pick up the body that was now rigid with death; they resumed their journey with a new fear dogging their every step.

  Mark knew where they were and where they were going, having aided his brother on more than one occasion, though not in recent years. They slowed their pace as they approached the inn, passing through the well-used side gate and stopped in front of a stack of wooden beer barrels. Checking that they had not been followed and that they were not being observed, Richard rapped three times on the barrel at the very centre of the stack.

  They waited for the answering knock, but there was none.

  He rapped three times again. Again there was no an
swer.

  Gripping his fingers to the top of the barrel, Richard pulled hard and as the barrel moved effortlessly he stumbled backwards, loosed his grip, tripped over the Voldiner and sprawled backwards, cracking the back of his head. Smiling Mark looked away from his prone brother and said nothing.

  Regaining his feet Richard moved back towards the open barrel and peered inside. He was worried for he shouldn’t have been able to open the secret door from the outside, at least not with such little effort.

  “Something’s wrong,” he said, drawing his short sword from the back of his belt and entering the darkness beyond. Behind him he heard Mark draw his own sword.

  Five feet inside the light from the moons faded and everything was in complete darkness, moving carefully he crossed to the left hand wall and began to feel for one of the lantern’s that he knew were kept there by the brotherhood. The wall was cold and damp and from the ceiling water dripped in the silence. Hanging where he knew it should be was a lantern. Taking it down and transferring its handle to his sword hand, he opened the front panel, took one of the matches from its holder at the front, struck it on the rough outside of the lantern and lit the wick, then transferring it back to his left hand he lifted it high.

  Richard backed away in horror and bumped into Mark who had come in behind him.

  “By the Gods,” Mark whispered.

  The scene before them was one of complete carnage; something had shredded the guards to pieces and had left them strewn across everything. Blood and hewn flesh covered everything, the ceiling, walls and floor.

  Turning he fled outside, casting the room back into darkness. There sucking in the cold night air he looked at his wet hands and vomited. They were covered in blood, the blood that now covered the walls.

  When his stomach was empty he scrubbed his hands on the blankets that wrapped the Voldiner and standing turned to face Mark.